


The Chain of Command

by ama



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Conversations, Established Relationship, Friendship, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: Brad is too nice, Ray crosses several boundaries in rapid succession, and Nate is a sex psychic.(Established Brad/Ray, pre-Brad/Ray/Nate)





	The Chain of Command

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my Gen Kill Bingo prompt "Brad/Ray/Nate: BDSM." This fic does not contain actual BDSM. It contains a lot of talking about relationship dynamics, and 2500 more words than required by the challenge, because it was written by me and this is what I do.

When Ray decided not to re-up, Nate was the first officer he told. Technically he should have gone to Schwetje, but fuck that. Nate had been his commanding officer in all the ways that counted, so he went to Nate. And then something really weird had happened: they actually sat down and had a genuine conversation about it. Previously, ninety-nine point nine percent of their conversations had either been strictly business, or involved Ray being a dumbass. (He _may_ have harbored some kind of inferiority complex and resentment over the fact that Brad seemed to admire the LT so much, which mellowed out once Brad proved via blowjobs that he actually did like Ray best.)

This time they talked seriously about Iraq, expectations, coping methods, and disillusionment, and Nate confessed that he wasn’t long for the Corps himself. And then he cracked a few jokes at Schwetje and Griego’s expense, and Ray realized that the LT was actually _cool_.

So they became friends. Soon they had a standing weekly appointment to meet at a local bar on Thursdays to call out answers at Jeopardy on TV until the live music started; Brad had stopped going because he was tired of hearing Ray’s unflattering comparisons of the bands and his old one, but this friendship was new enough that Nate still found them funny. They swapped books and recommendations, and although their tastes weren’t identical, they were similar enough that they could talk about what they read without throwing the books at each other’s head. Nate even had the honor of being one of only three (newly former) marines who got a discreet “Brad and Ray aren’t just roommates, they’re Roommates” text.

One week Ray arrived at their bar to find Nate already waiting, with a Manhattan in front of him and a black leather racer jacket hung on his chair. (Civilian Nate was a lot cooler than Lieutenant Nate.)

“What’s up, homes?” Ray said, clapping him on the back as he fell into a chair.

“Hey, Ray.” He waited while Ray ordered a beer and continued, “I would say it was a long day, but after OIF my standards are vastly different. You?”

“Eh,” Ray said with a shrug. He had gotten a job at RadioShack for the irony while he decided what to do about the future. It wasn’t the worst gig in the world, but Nate wasn’t the type of friend he wanted to talk retail stories with. “Same old, same old. Looking forward to the band tonight. I saw them last time they played here, and they sucked balls, in the best possible way. Like, I know you’re all about reasonable limits and shit, but watching them play is great when you’re totally trashed.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Nate chuckled. “How’s Brad?”

“He’s—fine,” Ray said. He had begun to answer automatically before remembering that he hadn’t seen Brad since this morning, and even then only briefly. He jerked one shoulder in another shrug. “Yeah. You know.”

Nate’s eyebrows lifted. Damn the man’s perception.

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah, dude, he’s good, it’s just I haven’t actually seen him since this morning. He woke me up when he left, but he went surfing this afternoon, so.”

“But the two of you are still good?”

“Totally.”

Ray heard his own voice and didn’t believe himself. He wanted to cringe. It was the stupidest thing. Brad wasn’t _angry_ at him, and Ray wasn’t angry at Brad, and of course they were good. Things had just been… a little awkward, the night before, and Brad wasn’t good at awkward. So Ray had slept in his own bed, which he still did on occasion, and the next morning Brad hadn’t woken Ray in time for breakfast. Which was fine! Ray often complained when Brad woke him up early! And then Brad had gone to the beach instead of coming right home from Pendleton, but Ray knew surfing was how Brad cleared his head, so that was probably a good thing, overall.

It was fine.

“Okay.” Nate cleared his throat with a little cough. “You know, if you ever do want to talk about it—about you and Brad—you _could_ talk to me. I won’t go blabbing just because I’m friends with both of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, solid copy,” Ray said, waving a hand. “Seriously, homes, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal, and even if it were, it’s the kind of shit straight guys really don’t want to hear about. No offense.”

Nate coughed again. He should really get that looked at.

“If I were a straight man, I supposed I might be offended, but no harm, no foul.”

It took Ray a minute to process this, and then he choked on his beer.

“ _What_?” he spluttered. Nate had a little embarrassed smile on his face. “Shut the fuck up, seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Ray punched him.

“You gay motherfucker, why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“I was going to get to it eventually, but my boyfriend sent me a Dear John letter when we were in Baghdad so I haven’t had an easy way to bring it up in conversation.”

“First of all, dick move, fuck him, second of all you have had _plenty_ of times to bring it up! Like when we first texted you, you could have said ‘Hi Ray, congratulations on the man-on-man sexual activity, I am also familiar with mansex, isn’t it great?’”

“Yeah, that does sound like me.”

“Fuckin’ a, man.”

“So this thing with Brad,” Nate said with eagle-sharp eyes. “This wouldn’t happen to be a man-on-man sexual activity, would it?”

Ray groaned.

“Fuck. Do we actually have to talk about it now? Because we’re gay-bonding?”

Nate made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and Ray sighed.

“Okay, fine. But listen, if one word of this gets repeated to Brad, I will decapitate you with an M-16. I know, it doesn’t sound possible, but I will find a fucking way. Capiche?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” Ray exhaled. “Okay, first off, it’s not a _problem_. Our sex life is _great_. It’s just this one awkward thing. I… like… BDSM stuff. That stands for—”

“I’m familiar, Ray,” Nate said dryly.

“Thank God. I would feel terrible for corrupting that babyface. Yeah. Okay. So, not anything _crazy_ , like no leather catsuits or watersports or anything, but, like, spanking and biting and general rough stuff and sometimes breathplay and a bit of bondage and some basic yes/sir no/sir powerplay shit,” he said, as quickly as he had ever said anything on Ripped Fuel as if that would negate some of the _weirdness_ of saying this out loud to his former platoon leader at a three-quarters-empty dive bar on a Thursday. “I didn’t bring it up right away, but I really thought Brad would be fine with it. I mean, you’ve met the guy. He’s this enormous hypermasculine hunk. You wouldn’t think he had a problem with being rough, would you?”

“But he’s not into it?”

“Not just not into it,” Ray said, shaking his head. “Like, can’t do it. Since we talked about it, he’s been  _gentler_ than usual. Last week it finally worked, and the next day he was _crazy_ guilty. I had a really faint bruise on my arm and every time he saw it, I swear you could see his blood pressure rise. Then last night we tried a real D/s scene, and he was so bad at it, Nate! It was the least sexy thing I’ve ever heard, it was like a virgin’s first night working a phone sex hotline bad. And when I tried to suggest some scripts he got all pissy and prudish about it.”

“That’s kind of a dick move.”

“He apologized after, and we agreed it probably just wasn’t going to work out. But now I’m worried that every time we have sex, this is going in the back of his mind driving him crazy.”

“Hmm, I see your problem,” Nate said. He took a sip of his cocktail and swirled the glass thoughtfully before setting it back down on the coaster. “Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to have much luck if you want Brad to take on that kind of role.”

“I don’t _get_ it,” Ray whined. He drained half his beer and stared moodily at the TV, where the first round of Jeopardy had started. Not that either of them were going to be paying much attention tonight. “It’s not like Brad’s a pushover. I mean, fuck, he had no problem ordering me around for three years in the Corps, and is this really that different?”

“Yes, Ray, it absolutely is. Jokes aside, the Corps wasn’t _that_ homoerotic. The context alone is enough to change things, and on top of that, you’re asking for a completely different dynamic. Think of it this way—you’ve been trying to get a sort of classic dominating experience, right?” he said, suddenly businesslike. Ray lifted his eyebrows. “Discipline-focused? ‘I did something wrong, so punish me’?”

“Say that a little louder, Nate, I think the bartender’s getting a stiffy.”

“Have I got the picture?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Right. Except that’s not Brad. That’s the BDSM equivalent of Sergeant Major Sixta cracking down on every violation of the grooming standard.”

“Please never talk about my sex life in those terms ever again,” Ray demanded, partly to hide his appreciation of how neatly the metaphor worked.

“Noted. But still, Brad’s not like that. He doesn’t like lording his authority over anyone, and _especially_ not over you. That much is obvious. If I had a guess, I would say that Brad is probably more of a service top than a classic dom. He might take on _some_ dom aspects, but he would be motivated by the opportunity to do something nice for you. The sexual equivalent of stockpiling contraband pornos and canned food as a treat for his team.”

“…How do you know that?” Ray asked, wide-eyed, referring to both the secret Chef Boyardee and the dead-on-balls accurate sexual-psychoanalysis of his boyfriend.

“I know all,” Nate said matter-of-factly. He drained his glass. “Next round is yours.”

“Yeah, shit, yeah.”

He raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention and ordered another round of drinks on his tab. He waited until the bartender had retreated to the other end of the room before saying “So you think the reason my boyfriend won’t spank me is because he’s too _nice_?”

“Pretty much,” Nate shrugged, with some little quirk of his mouth that Ray couldn’t interpret. “Not having slept with him myself, I can’t say for sure.”

“Huh. So…” He trailed off as he realized that he was probably about to cross some kind of line. But this conversation had crossed several already, and hey, in for a penny, in for a pound. “What should I do, then? Do I just give up the whole idea, or do you think there’s a way I can—you know. Convince him that being nice can also sometimes involve spanking?”

“Have a serious conversation about your emotional needs?” Nate suggested in a doubtful voice. “Reframe the dynamic so that it’s about reward rather than punishment, maybe. Or it’s possible switching things up might work. I know a fair number of service tops who would call themselves subs.”

“Eh, that does nothing for me,” Ray said, waving his hand. “I’m way too lazy.”

“Maybe a threesome? If you could establish some kind of… sexual chain of command, with Brad above you and below Mr. X, he might be more okay with it. Although I can’t imagine Brad is big on sharing.”

Ray considered this for a moment, and felt an idea forming in the back of his mind. He took a swig of his beer to stall and marvel at his own genius. Then one more. Then a third.

“Nate…”

“What?” Nate looked at him absently.

“Nate.”

His eyes widened.

“Ray, come on—”

“LT, come _on_ —”

“You’ve got to be—”

“Don’t even tell me it’s not your thing. You know way too much about all this dom shit to not be into it, and you’ve _seen_ Brad, right?”

“It’s completely—it would be totally—inappropriate!” Nate spluttered, although there was a flush above his collar that Ray did not think was caused by outrage.

“Why? You’re not our boss anymore.  You’re just this hot guy we know. And listen, the odds of our finding anyone else to even ask are just about fucking zero, okay? Brad’s possessive as fuck and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t consider a threesome unless it was someone he already liked, respected, and found sexy.”

“Brad thinks I’m sexy?” Nate asked in a skeptical voice that somehow managed to sound hopeful at the same time.

“Hell yeah he does. I mean, he better. Fucking _look_ at you, man.”

Nate pursed his lips, which only made him look more attractive, and rolled his glass along the outside rim as he considered this.

“Naaaaate,” Ray wheedled. “Come on, buddy, how great is your sex life, really?”

“My sex life is fine, nosy,” Nate admonished. “I’ve been single and out of the Corps for months. I haven’t been  _ celibate _ . But, to be honest… I’m getting bored of casual sex.”

“Say it ain’t so,” Ray snorted.

“I’m serious, Ray. You’re not involved in the BDSM scene, are you? Just interested in theory?”

“More than in theory!”

“But you don’t go to clubs or anything. I would have seen you there.”

“I have a boyfriend, and as we’ve been discussing, he’s not into it. Wait, what do you mean, you  _ would _ have seen me there?”

“I mean,” Nate grinned sheepishly. “That I have gone out often enough… pre, during, and post-Chris… that I’m sort of a known quantity. To be fair, I’ve only been to some of the more public places since leaving the Corps, but still. This would not be the first time I’ve been someone’s introduction to BDSM, and I’m starting to find it boring. Most of the time people are selfish, which I know going into it, but it’s never as good as it could be, and within a week they apologize and say thanks for getting them started but I’m just so  _ nice _ and they’re ready for some more hardcore stuff and I’m definitely sick of that. Plus, nobody ever buys me dinner when they want to do kink. I think I’d like to be wood, every once in a while.”

“Then this is perfect!” Ray said, patting him on the arm reassuringly. “Because you  _ know _ us. Granted, this might be a one-time thing, depending, but we’re not going to trade you in for another LT, are we? And we will totally buy you dinner, and dessert even. Also, not to brag or anything, but me and Brad are really good at sex.”

Nate stared at him. They were sitting closer than usual, to avoid scandalizing the bartender, and Ray realized suddenly that Nate had really pretty eyes. He was really pretty in general, actually, which wasn’t a surprise, but seemed much more pertinent now than it had twenty minutes ago.

“Promise?” Nate asked in a mocking murmur, and Ray noticed that he had a really pretty mouth, too.

“Promise,” he echoed, and he kissed the tip of Nate’s nose. The blonde snorted and looked away.

“I’m not going to be some kind of—hands-on sex therapist,” he warned.

“Dude, don’t worry, you’ll get some, you’d just do all the bossy shit. We can figure that out beforehand.”

“Fine. But—you have to ask Brad without telling him we had this whole conversation, all right? I don’t want him to feel like he’s being ambushed. That _would_ feel like I’m abusing my former position of authority.”

“Fucking blondes and their fucking moral crises,” Ray muttered. He took out his phone and dialed Brad’s number without looking. Brad answered on the second ring. “Hey, babe, on a scale of 1 to 10, how interested would you be in a threesome with Nate?”

There was a long pause.

“Nate who?” Brad asked in a nonplussed voice.

“Fick, dumbass.”

“Person, you have been gone for half an hour and you’re already trashed. That’s got to be a new record. Wait, are you _high_?”

“I’m completely serious, homes, and like 90% sober. Look, he’s right here. Say hi, Nate.”

“Hi, Brad,” Nate said with an awkward wave at the phone.

“See? He’s here, he’s pretty sober, I’m pretty sober, we kind of want to have a threesome. But only if you’re totally into it and don’t feel pressured by the fact that Nate used to be your boss, and also I guess it doesn’t have to be right now. We can pencil something in. How copy, Iceman?”

Another pause.

“This isn’t a joke?”

“It’s not a joke. He’s got this whole _masterful_ aura and a sexy leather jacket. I’m into it.”

“I thought you were into _me_.”

“Oh, dude, I’m totally into you,” Ray reassured him. “I’m not suggesting this because I’m bored. It’s just that you’re a 10, and Nate’s a 9.5, and together you’re a 19.5. It’s just math. Besides,” he added in an undertone. “Are you really trying to tell me I’m the only one in this relationship who’s ever thought about seeing Fick naked? Come on.”

“Ray…” Brad hesitated. “If this is about last night…”

Ray turned in his chair and cradled the phone closer to his mouth. Nate consciously directed his attention at the TV and asked “What is Algeria?”, and Ray appreciated the facade of privacy that offered.

“It is, sort of, but not the way you think,” he murmured in a low voice. “Listen, Brad, I know you and I know you’re going to get stuck on this, okay? And I think maybe Nate might be able to get you unstuck, and you might really like it—but if it’s only going to freak you out more, we can just say no. I can probably get you unstuck, too, it’ll just take a little bit longer and might not be as sexy. I’m modest enough to admit I’m only a 9.4.”

“You’re such a pervert,” Brad said after a pause.

“I love you, too,” Ray smiled.

“All right. Come home and bring the LT. We’ll talk.”

“Talk dirty?”

“We’ll talk, Ray. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Ray repeated. He snapped his phone shut, drained his beer, and hopped down from his chair. “We’re closing out,” he said to the bartender.

“We are?”

“Hell yeah we are. We’re gonna go talk to Brad,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Nate stood, too.

“Okay,” he said, a look of dazed delight on his face. He shrugged his jacket on and cleared his throat. “I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this. Odds are 50-50 it all goes to hell.”

“Come on, LT,” Ray said with his most winning smile. “I let you get me into Iraq, didn’t I? I’m getting you into a _threesome_.”

“You’re right,” Nate snorted. “I didn’t take our track record into account. 60-40.”


End file.
